


Dreams So Long Enjoyed

by Allekha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dreams, M/M, Pre-Canon, Selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/pseuds/Allekha
Summary: Victor starts to have vivid, lucid dreams of his younger self.





	Dreams So Long Enjoyed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icicle/gifts).



It's the middle of winter, it feels like it's been dark all day because of the short daylight and the heavy clouds that haven't yet actually brought snow, and Victor is trying to talk himself out of curling up with his dog and spending the rest of the night drinking.

He can't figure out why, but he's restless and bored. Social media is doing nothing for him, not even Phichit's dynamic selfies with his coach, or Guang-hong's mouth-watering pictures of Chinese restaurant food, or that one Twitter he follows that does nothing but retweet adorable puppies. He's tried reading, but he couldn't focus on the words, and YouTube got him rewatching his old routines and critiquing them, which didn't help.

Maybe he should call Chris. Chris is always up for a good time. Or for just talking. Chris is good at that, too.

Or Yakov. It's a bit late to call Yakov, but he could go over for dinner tomorrow. Yakov would probably grumble if he complained about being bored, but he could listen to Yakov talk about Lilia instead, maybe. Victor knows he's been trying to persuade her to come back because Yuri _really_ needs an excellent, strict ballet instructor, and Yakov's not been having a fun time with it. So he could let him blow off some steam or whatever while they both pretend that Victor isn't actually excited about the prospect of seeing Lilia again.

He picks up his phone. Stares at the unlock screen until it goes dark again. Sets it down.

What's _wrong_ with him? Sure, the man who swept him off his feet a few weeks ago in Sochi didn't leave his number, and that kind of sucks, but Victor doesn't actually need a prince charming. Sure, Yuri's been snappier than usual lately, but Victor doesn't mind that most of the time. Sure, it's been a dark and cold winter, but it's St Petersburg – when is winter _not_ dark and cold? Sure, there's something wrong with his routines this year, but he still hasn't figured out what, and nobody else seems to have noticed.

He eventually decides no on the alcohol, yes on the cuddling Makkachin, and just goes to bed early. Makkachin doesn't mind – she was napping anyway – and she's soft, and he likes to listen to her breathe as he pets her. It feels nice. It helps, or at least it quiets him, until he falls fast asleep next to her.

Victor dreams of ice. Not as he usually does, though. In this dream, there's another him – a younger him, dressed for practice, cheerfully hopping and dancing across the ice, sometimes throwing in an impossibly-high jump for the heck of it and laughing to himself when he lands it.

He watches him skate for a while. This Victor is happy and confident and bright. For him, performances are still opportunities, not almost obligations. Victor wonders when he started to feel like that. If there's any way to bring back the joy that this younger Victor obviously feels.

(Well. He could retire. But the chain around his neck hasn't tightened enough to cut it off quite yet. And then what would he do? Victor's whole world is skating. Coaching? Maybe....)

The younger Victor suddenly pivots and smiles at him. "What are you doing just standing there?" he asks, his voice high and light. He holds out a hand.

Victor looks at it. Takes it. The younger Victor beams at him; he can feel himself smile in return. Dancing with himself? Ridiculous. It sounds like fun.

The younger Victor leads them around at first, going slow and then fast, letting go of Victor's hand to twirl around and then grabbing it again. It's nothing proper – they're nothing like the beautiful ice dancers – but soon Victor is laughing almost as much as the younger Victor as he just _skates_. No practice practice practice, no jump quotas, it's them and the ice and nothing else.

When the younger Victor skates around him, his eyes bright and bluer than they should be, Victor reaches out, takes his arms, then shifts his hands down and picks him up like they're doing real pairs. The younger Victor squeaks – _cute_ – and then laughs, throwing his arms around Victor's neck. They start dancing with each other instead of next to each other. The younger Victor arches into his hand beautifully, bends until his long hair brushes the ice, and then he springs back up and takes Victor's shoulder, pulls.

They dance and dance, and Victor isn't sure where the dream actually ends; he only knows that he wakes up slowly in the morning and feels rather better than when he went to sleep. He tells Makkachin the story as they take an early walk in the dark.

At the rink, he feels more normal than he has in – a while, actually. It fades a little through the day, but not all the way. "You seem happy today," Milla comments when she stops to drink some water.

"Do I? I had a nice dream."

"A nice dream," she repeats, voice flat, clearly not believing him, and then her mouth turns into a teasing grin. "Who did you dream of?"

"Secret," he says, skating backward away from her. She shakes her head and goes back to practicing spins.

Victor does end up going to Yakov's place after practice. The human company is nice, and Yakov spends less time talking about Lilia than he had thought, more time ranting about Yuri and how Seniors is going to be a wake-up call for him at this rate. Later he adds in some complaints about Georgi and Milla letting their love lives take over, and eyes Victor. It's like he's expecting Victor to announce that he's going to go chase after a skater on another continent or something.

Victor smiles innocently back, as though he's never caused a single hair to abandon Yakov's head.

He lets Yakov fuss over him before he leaves, checking that his coat is buttoned right to keep out the cold, tying the scarf Yakov gave him for his birthday a couple of years ago and tucking in the ends. He has to put up a token protest, of course, but it leaves him feeling warm, somehow.

Makkachin decides she wants to sleep at his feet tonight – so no dog cuddles for him – but he still manages to fall asleep pretty quickly.

This time, he dreams of a dance studio. There's no door, just mirrors and mirrors on every wall, a barre bolted over them, and strange lighting that he can't quite see from the ceiling.

There's the younger Victor again, too, leaning on one barre and pulling his leg over his head in a movement that Victor can no longer do that easily. He spots Victor in the mirror and straightens up, smiles.

"You're supposed to have your hair up for ballet practice," Victor says, going over and running his hand down the younger Victor's hair.

"Lilia's not here to scold me, is she?"

"So I'm scolding you in her place." He tugs on a handful of the strands, lightly, and the younger Victor rolls his eyes.

"I don't have anything to put it up with."

"Oh, well."

There's soft music coming from somewhere. Victor automatically reaches for the barre like it's the beginning of practice, but he pauses. This is a dream. He gets enough ballet practice in the real world. He doesn't have to go through exercises here.

He moves to the center of the floor instead, launches into – something. He isn't sure what it is, but it captures the younger Victor's attention for a while, before he seems to get bored of watching Victor dance and comes out to join him. The music changes, becomes louder and slower; Victor holds out a hand and the younger Victor takes it, starts to dance with him. It's a strange pas de deux, especially with the two of them looking so alike, and with the younger Victor's hair falling over his shoulders, but they work well together, like there are actually steps for them to know. He helps the younger Victor balance with a hand in his as he drops forward into a gorgeous arabesque, then lets himself be pulled along into something almost like a step sequence.

It's just as much fun as dancing together on the ice was yesterday. Victor is starting to think he can actually see the appeal of pairs. It always seemed like so much trouble, having to keep track of another person as well as himself, and what would he do if they got sick or injured or decided they wanted to retire to focus on school or family or so on? (And the vain part of himself never wanted to share the attention on the ice.)

It's not that he doesn't like dancing with people. It's just... it's been a while, except for that one night in Sochi with Yuuri. And now in this dream with this younger Victor, who moves like he knows how Victor is going to move. He's still not going to move into pairs, but maybe he should try it for fun, sometime, maybe for a show. Chris would love to do a pair skate with him, or Milla – she's been practicing lifts lately, it would be fun to see if she could throw him around a little.

The music stops. They stop, too. Younger Victor is frowning upward, where the vague lights have gone different colors when Victor wasn't looking. How long have they been dancing for? It feels like hours.

The younger Victor turns to look at him; he shrugs. He doesn't know how to bring the music back, either, or why the mirrors around them have turned black but remain shiny. The younger Victor turns in his grip, leans up, opens his mouth—

But Victor doesn't get to hear what he means to say, as he wakes up. The dark, cool room and his soft bed are a real change from the dance studio in his dream, and it takes him a moment before he remembers where the lamp is to turn it on.

It was a very vivid dream. Victor can still remember most of it pretty well when he's done getting tea going a few minutes later. The way the music went, how the younger Victor's hair kept brushing his arms, soft, how pretty they had looked together in all the mirrors reflecting off each other.

It's too bad it was only a dream. Victor can only imagine how the internet would explode over, say, an ice show featuring two of him. Now _that_ would be fun to choreograph.

Dance practice today is not as much fun as it was in the dream, but at least the mirrors stay silver, and it goes well. Victor watches Yuri in the mirror as they run through barre exercises and thinks that if Lilia is going to get her hands on him, he needs to work on his flexibility. A lot. But he'll probably do well under her; he's capable of the same sort of almost frightening dedication that Victor is, the kind that Lilia will demand.

He doesn't dream again that night, or the next, but he does later in the week. It's the ice, again, and the younger Victor, again, skating figures. He abandons them as soon as he sees Victor, rushes over to grab his hands.

They dance again, for a while, spinning and drifting across the surface of the ice, which goes dark and then sparkling and then light and then blue. The younger Victor keeps pressing close and Victor keeps getting tempted into picking him up. The dancers make it look so easy; how many times has he seen a ballet dancer pick up a partner and carry them across the length of a stage? Of course they make it look easy, it's their job. Even in a dream, it's more difficult than it looks, especially when the younger Victor squirms or laughs or starts grabbing at him for balance.

He remembers the banquet, again, and Yuuri Katsuki. He wonders if Yuuri could pick him up like this. If it would be easier to pick him up than the younger Victor is. The things he and Chris did on that pole.... But then the younger Victor is begging wordlessly for his attention again, and Victor gives it to him. He's easy to give into, with those big eyes and smile tuned just right. It doesn't quite work like that now that he's grown up, he's had to learn how to charm people in other ways, but that cute look kind of works on him even if he can see right through it.

Eventually, he manages to get tired of their dancing and comes to a stop. After failing to pull him along again, the younger Victor laughs and prances outward until he has the room to spin with his arms thrown wide. "I wish all my dreams were this fun," he sighs.

"Wait," says Victor, because that wasn't right. "Your dreams? These are my dreams," he says, and the younger Victor gets a questioning look on his face, shakes his head and opens his mouth, and then he's waking up.

It's three in the morning. There's a slight ringing in his ears that wears off after a few moments. He stares at the ceiling for a while, and then he rolls over and throws his arm around a snoozing Makkachin.

He goes over that last part of the dream several times – is that his subconscious trying to tell him something? Because that was really weird. And eventually he realizes that the dreams he's had with the younger him in them aren't like normal dreams, slipping away as soon as he wakes up until only a few details remain. He can remember so much of them, as though they actually happened.

The only thing for it seems to be turning over and trying to get back to sleep. It takes him a long time, and in the end it doesn't work; he sleeps, he dreams, but it's a normal one, already fading when his alarm pulls him from bed.

It doesn't happen again the next night, and after a few more nights of normal sleep, he almost thinks that they've gone away, until it happens again.

Ice. A dark sky without stars or clouds or a moon. Another Victor, long-haired, frowning down at him from where he lays on the ice. "There you are," he says, propping his elbows on Victor's chest so he can rest his chin on his hands. "What do you mean, this is your dream. Isn't it mine?"

Those elbows are digging into his ribs, so Victor gently pulls them off until the younger Victor pouts and crosses his arms on Victor's chest instead. "I mean that I thought I was the one dreaming here," he says slowly. "Aren't you a figment of my subconscious?"

"Given that today I went to practice and school and practice before going to sleep, I don't think so." He settles his chin back on his crossed arms and peers up at Victor – at least until Victor sits up, making him fall back on his hands with a little grunt.

"So if you're not a figment of my imagination and I'm _definitely_ not part of yours, then...." They stare at each other. Victor still isn't entirely sure this isn't just a very strange situation in a strange dream, but this is making too much sense for a dream, and also, he hasn't had a lucid dream since the one time when he was ten. This is kind of interesting, actually. He reaches out and pokes the younger Victor in the nose; younger Victor blinks at him. "At least I'm sharing dreams with a cute version of me," he says. He likes how he looks now – very much – but gosh was he pretty as a teenager.

"And you're only, what, thirty?"

Victor pokes him again, this time on the cheek. "I just turned twenty-seven, you know." (His thinning hair isn't showing, is it?)

"Wow, old," the younger Victor says, ducking to avoid a poke on the other cheek. "Do you have any sage, worldly advice for me?"

"Do you have any innocent yet inspirational remarks for me?"

They don't, of course, and the younger Victor doesn't ask a boatload of questions about the future (Victor wouldn't either – what's life without surprises – so he wasn't expecting otherwise). Without much else to do, they get up and skate.

"You should teach me something," the younger Victor says eventually.

"Like what?"

"Like a new jump."

It might work. Victor has often practiced in his mind before trying things on the ice. Not quite this literally, though. And he's been interested in coaching for a while, even if Yakov keeps trying to shut the idea down.

Anyway, it's something new. Different. It sounds like fun. "I don't remember being taught jumps by myself in my dreams," he says, skating backward and watching the lines his blades make in the ice turn a faint purple. (Younger Victor's lines are a strange greenish color. Weird.) "I wonder if that means you're not _me_ me, but _a_ younger me."

Younger Victor shrugs. His eyes are intent. Victor speeds up and does a quad. And then a different one, and a different one, until he's gone through the whole set and the younger Victor's eyes have gone concerningly wide.

"Which one should we start with," he wonders out loud, because it's harder than he thought it would be to remember what he could pull off as a teenager. Might as well start with 'relatively easy' and work their way up, right? If this dream thing keeps going long enough for that to happen.

The best part is that they don't need to worry about things like safety, and falling doesn't even look like it hurts that much. Which is good, because younger Victor manages to do so about fifty times before they wake up.

As he laces his skates before practice, Victor wonders if he should ask Yakov for advice. He would help, but Victor would have to explain the whole dream thing, and it sounds crazy enough to him, he's not sure Yakov would take him seriously. He settles for trying to pay attention instead – to what Yakov says, or doesn't say, the way he says it.

"Are you alright?" Yakov asks when Victor steps off the ice.

"Hm? I'm fine." Tired, but no more so than usual.

"You've hardly said a word today," Yakov says. "The last time you were that quiet, you ended up sick for three weeks."

"I'm fine," Victor says with a laugh. "I'm just thinking."

Yakov nods, and he looks a little skeptical, but he doesn't push.

The dreams do keep happening – at least three times a week, and sometimes more. Sometimes they practice together, but not always, since they have enough of that in real life. Sometimes they dance together, but it turns out that they can get tired of that, too. Sometimes they simply sit somewhere – on the ice that isn't as cold as it should be, in the corner of the dance studio made up only of mirrors – and talk for a while.

"Makkachin was very cute today," younger Victor says. Today the ice has flowers growing from it, too thick to skate around easily. They had collected a bunch earlier, and now they're sitting and playing with them. Younger Victor pulls all the petals off something that looks like the mutant hybrid of a daffodil and an aster and rambles on about how Makkachin rolled on the floor with a blanket and it was adorable and so on and so forth. He only pauses to pick at his nail polish, which had started off as his favorite black, but which keeps changing every time he picks up another flower.

Victor did not have the best of days today, so he's content to listen. His skating had been lifeless, and Yakov had yelled at him more than usual and then asked if he was sure he wasn't getting sick, and he'd done something to his ankle to set it throbbing, and Georgi had been in tears over a minor disagreement with his girlfriend, and he'd only realized halfway through cooking dinner that he was out of two of the necessary ingredients. Cute dog stories are good.

While the younger Victor talks, Victor braids flowers into his hair. Short hair is easier to care for and it suits his current image better, but it always was a lot of fun to play with it when it was long. The younger Victor has enough stories in him to last Victor through a couple of French braids on his scalp that combine into a regular braid down the length of it. They don't have hair ties, but it's a dream; he simply loops a few strands around the end, makes something vaguely resembling a knot, and drops it over the younger Victor's shoulder. "There you go."

"Pretty." He inspects it for a moment, then glances up. Glances down. Glances up. Victor can _see_ the question in his eyes. But unlike the media, journalist after interviewer, he doesn't ask _so why did you cut it anyway_. Instead, he asks, "Are you working on programs for next season, yet?"

"I have the music for my short program." Or he will, as soon as he can figure out which arrangement to use. "I'm having trouble with the free skate, though. I guess it's choreographer's block."

The younger Victor makes a face; it's ugly, so Victor shoves a bundle of flowers into it. He sneezes, then takes them and drops them in his lap. "How could you not have any ideas?"

"I just don't." He picks up a rose – blue, like the ones he used to get all the time. Still does, sometimes. He plucks at its petals. "I'll come up with something. But if you do enough things, it gets hard to surprise the audience."

"Then do something you haven't done in a while," the younger Victor says, as if it's that easy. "Or do – what's it called, like when the guy wrote the novel without using 'e'. Something people would say is impossible, and do it."

"Where did you learn about that?" Victor asks, amused, as he doesn't remember any such thing.

Younger Victor shrugs. "I read about it in my French book. One of the practice passages was about it." He starts to take the blue rose petals and plop them, one by one, on Victor's hair. A few drift down again, but the rest must stay put. He tries not to move to help them stick.

"Something they would say is impossible, hm." It's not immediately giving him any ideas, but it's – he can feel the potential for an idea there. It's a start.

He lets it sit as he wakes up, as he walks Makkachin, as he gets breakfast. It's the kind of thing that needs to simmer for a while before it becomes anything. He looks in the mirror before he leaves, and adds the other suggestion to the pot. He can't just repeat something he's done in the past, but maybe he can work in some kind of callback without making it seem like he's trying to bookend his career.

It's still simmering when, a week later, on the plane to Worlds, Victor falls asleep and slips into their shared dream. The ice, again, and this time a blue sky stretching from horizon to horizon.

"I have something else I want you to teach me," the younger Victor says, hands set firmly on his hips. He's not wearing skates; he's barefoot, making him rather shorter than Victor.

"What is it?" The younger Victor looks so serious. What could it be?

"Teach me how to kiss," he demands. Victor can only stare for a moment before he bursts out laughing. Which makes the younger Victor scowl at him, which only makes him laugh harder.

"Sorry," he wheezes. "You just surprised me! Wow, my own self startling me so much. Amazing. First of all, you can't ask looking like that. You have to be... softer? Like you're interested in them. No, don't make those eyes, lower your eyelids a bit – there." The expression is still more 'cute' than 'seductive', but they can work on that later.

What the hell. Victor can remember being a somewhat desperate teenager who only met other people his age at competitions. He's pretty sure he tried to practice kissing by himself with a mirror at some point. And he's willing to admit that he's vain, and younger Victor is lovely. So he puts a hand to the younger Victor's cheek and leans down and kisses him.

He goes for gentle; younger Victor is trying too hard, though, clutching at his shirt and pushing up into him. So he pulls back, then pauses to take off his skates. He kisses the younger Victor again, a hand on his shoulder and on his waist. And again, and again, and again, like practicing skating elements.

The younger Victor starts to get the hang of it eventually. He relaxes, slows down, wraps his arms loosely around Victor's waist and leans into him. It's good, actually, and not just because it's been a while since Victor did this with somebody.

He opens his mouth, and the younger Victor follows suit. Victor knows what he likes, so he shows him: a hand in his hair, an arm around him, his tongue deep in the younger Victor's mouth, a kiss that lasts forever. When he finally draws back, the younger Victor looks dazed. Victor kisses his nose, his pink cheeks, and then lets him catch his breath.

The younger Victor leans against his shoulder. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice gone rough.

"What brought this on? Anyone in particular?" He can't recall what crush he might have had, but he's still pretty sure that this is some other younger Victor, so who knows what could be happening slightly differently in his world. The idea of giving himself romantic advice is too amusing to pass up.

The younger Victor nods, but doesn't say who. "He's going to be at Worlds, too," he says instead. Then he straightens, tilts his head, leans up into another kiss. Victor closes his eyes and—

Yakov is shaking him awake. The plane's landed. Time to get up. The shift is disorientating for a few minutes, and he doesn't feel fully awake until they're waiting in line at Japanese customs.

He wins yet another gold over Chris and whoever that guy from Canada is, smiles for the cameras, smiles smiles smiles and doesn't dream of the younger Victor at all. Maybe it's a thing, where the shared dreams don't happen if they're too tired or concentrating too hard on competition. Busy as he is, he kind of misses it.

Chris drinks with him afterward, on a hotel balcony that seems to be too cold for everyone else even though it's above freezing. They chat and gossip for a while, and Victor resists the urge to say _I almost wish you would beat me for once_ because he isn't drunk enough to let that slip. But the thoughts do come, how if he can't top himself and if he doesn't have anyone who can actually trounce him and if he can't surprise the audience any longer, what's the point of skating next season except that everyone is expecting him to?

"What's wrong?" Chris asks eventually, setting his glass down. "You look awfully sad for someone who just won gold."

"I'm thinking," Victor says. Chris nudges him. And Chris is too good at people to brush off easily, so Victor picks a related problem. "I can't decide on my music for next season."

"Spoiled for choice, are we?"

"Here." He fishes out his phone. "Since you're such a good friend, I'll let you in on a secret this one time. Help me choose?"

"You'll just do the opposite of whatever I suggest," Chris says dryly, but he listens to the short samples that Victor plays. "Sex and innocence?"

" _Eros_ and _Agape_ ," but close enough.

"As much as I would love to see you bring seduction to the ice," Chris says, throwing in a wink, "I'd rather see how you can pull the second one off. It's so light."

"You're just saying that because you don't want them comparing our programs to see who's sexier," Victor says.

"Like I said, you'll pick the opposite of whatever I tell you," Chris laughs. He pours Victor more wine, and he takes it, and they move on to talking of other things.

But maybe Chris is right. Light and innocent hasn't been his style for a while. The music is supposed to make him think of Makkachin and her unconditional adoration, maybe a bit of Yakov, who has supported him for so long. Maybe he can throw in the younger Victor from the dreams, too, the way he still loves the ice so easily and completely. He can feel an idea starting to come together in his head, one that he likes, and which fits with the bits of choreography he already had planned. And with that he starts to get a few inklings of ideas for his free skate, something that contrasts but with the same underlying theme – it still needs a story, and music, but it's more than he's had for weeks. Maybe he can at least have fun this season, and maybe he can manage to surprise the audience once more if he pulls it off right.

When he and Chris finally call it a night, he falls right into bed and right into a dream. Tonight it takes him to the dance studio again, this time with a flat black ceiling and half the mirrors reflecting the starry sky instead of the room. Weird.

"How did your date go?" Victor asks as soon as the younger Victor shows up.

"He's an idiot," the younger Victor grouses. "And as soon as we got to my room he started saying weird stuff about getting to fuck the gold medalist and so on, and I kind of didn't want to but I didn't like it so I kicked him out."

"Yakov would be very proud," Victor teases, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The younger Victor rolls his eyes but leans into the touch. "That kind isn't worth sleeping with, trust me."

"And he was terrible at kissing," younger Victor complains. "He kept biting, it was weird. It was way better when we...." And he glances up, which is all the warning Victor gets before the younger Victor is kissing him.

This is not what he expected to be doing. He had thought that he would watch the younger Victor for a while, maybe dance with him, see if he could get more inspiration from that. But this is good, too. A mouth on his. Arms around his shoulders. Watching his own blue eyes flutter and close.

"Poor you," Victor says when they break apart. "Does this make up for him?"

"Yes," the younger Victor says. "I like you much better."

"Well, I am you," Victor points out. He kisses the younger Victor's neck and smiles at how it makes him squirm the first time and go still the second. "You know," he says, casually, between kisses. "I think you might have brought my inspiration back."

"Yeah?"

"So I thought of a way to thank you and cheer you up at the same time."

"Ye-e-es?" He's starting to pull at Victor's collar with one hand, impatient.

Victor can still remember some of his favorite teenage fantasies. So he takes the hand plucking at his clothes, and the one still clinging to him, presses his lips to one palm – and then rolls them over and pins his wrists to the smooth wooden floor.

The younger Victor stares at him, goes, "Oh," softly. He smiles eagerly and opens his mouth when Victor kisses him.

It's not quite as much fun to be on this side, but it is enjoyable to feel the younger Victor arch into his touch when he shoves a hand up his shirt, to listen to him gasp and moan and demand. Their rushed kisses have a bit too much teeth to them, but that's okay. Victor keeps going back to his mouth anyway, pulling on the younger Victor's hair whenever he turns his head too far to the side.

This being a dream makes it a lot easier for the younger Victor to actually pull at his shirt until the buttons go rolling across the floor (turns out that they tend to be sewn on pretty well in real life, more's the pity). Victor sits up to shrug it off. The younger Victor is already pulling at him before he's even gotten his arms all the way out of the sleeves; as soon as they're free, he drops the shirt to the side and pins the younger Victor's wrists down again.

"Be a little patient," he chides. For a moment he thinks of really making him be patient, going teasingly slow until they're both ready to scream, but he's not in the mood for that tonight. He does take a few minutes to mouth at the younger Victor's neck, at his collarbone where it's exposed above his t-shirt, until he's wriggling and asking nicely, _please_.

He has to let go to get their pants off, but the younger Victor keeps his arms next to his head no matter how much he squirms. Good for him. Victor pauses there to look at him even though he already knows what he looks like – but not like this, no. Panting, intent, laying beneath him. Should he be so turned on by himself? Whatever, it's not like anybody is going to know but the two of them. (Chris would probably approve, though. Chris probably would have slept with himself a dozen times over by now if this was happening to him.)

The younger Victor wraps his legs over Victor's hips. He makes a high-pitched whimper when Victor strokes him, closes his eyes just to open them again and watch. "Are you going to fuck me?" he gasps after a few minutes, curious, not demanding.

"Do you want me to?"

"Please." He reaches for Victor, a hand on his hair, the other around his neck. "Please?" he asks again, shuddering as Victor touches him.

"Sure." He presses a light kiss to his jaw. "Whatever you want."

The room is still bare of anything but them (though oh, look, now there's snow gently drifting across the starscape on the other side of the room, that's pretty) so he makes do by slipping his fingers into his mouth. The other Victor tilts his head and settles underneath. As soon as Victor pulls them out, he pushes two of his own fingers to Victor's mouth, hesitant, but Victor takes them in as he moves his hand down. The younger Victor's eyes are so big already, but they somehow widen as Victor sucks on his fingers, go wider still as Victor presses his own fingers into him.

Of course, it's not long before the younger Victor is shifting his hips and tugging at Victor's hair, his breath coming fast. "Come on," he whines, pulling his fingers away to join those grabbing at Victor's roots. "Come _on_."

"Shush, you." Victor shuts him up with a kiss.

When he pushes into him, the younger Victor wails and throws his head back. Victor pauses to make sure he hasn't hurt him, that it wasn't a cry of pain, but that gets him nails digging into his shoulders as the younger Victor goes, "Why are you _stopping_?"

Victor obliges and starts to move. The younger Victor clings to him, legs clamped to his waist and nails scratching at his back, keeps crying out. He looks so good like this, eyes dark with his wide pupils and hair flying all over the place, sticking to both of them. Victor has to kiss him again, though it's sloppier than their earlier ones. Concentrating is hard when the younger Victor is so tight and good around him, when there's just the right amount of pain in the scratches along his back.

The younger Victor doesn't complain no matter how hard he thrusts, or how tightly Victor grips his hips as he pulls and pushes. It only seems to make him flutter his eyes a bit. Maybe puts a hitch in his breath. He just keeps making all those noises – is he really this loud? He moans and he whispers half-words and sometimes gets close to a scream when Victor pushes in at the right angle.

If Victor makes so much noise, he isn't aware of it, too focused on his building pleasure. He shudders silently when he comes, buries his face in the younger Victor's hair. He would be happy to rest for a minute – a few moments, at least – but there are heels digging into his lower back, whimpers coming from the younger Victor. He pecks his cheek, then swallows the whimpers with a kiss as he reaches back down to stroke the younger Victor.

It doesn't take too long. The younger Victor falls away when he's very close, making stuttering gasps that Victor finds strangely endearing. And then he grasps Victor tighter, painfully, his face twisting, before he relaxes and tucks his head into Victor's neck, panting.

He finally lets go, which lets Victor roll off of him and into a more comfortable position. The younger Victor curls into his side, legs tangling with his, his head next to Victor's. Victor starts to pet his hair. Other than that, they don't move for a long while.

"Good?" he finally asks.

" _Amazing_ ," the younger Victor says. He lifts up one hand; there are bruises on his wrist. Wow, he didn't know he'd been holding him that tight. "I wish these would stick around when I wake up." The scratches on his back, too. It might be annoying on the plane, but it would be good as soon as he was back home. Oh, well. "Did you get any more inspiration?"

"We'll see." He's too tired to think about routines right now. He absently braids the younger Victor's hair, loose and very messy, then combs it out when he's done and lets his hand rest there. The younger Victor gives him a smile, lopsided, and rubs his head against his cheek. Somehow, even though it's a dream, the younger Victor manages to fall asleep next to him, and it isn't long before Victor follows him.

When he wakes up in the real world, he takes his time stretching. He swears he can still feel the scratches from the dream on his back, though they aren't there (he checks). The hotel room is narrow and there isn't a lot of free space – that's Japan for you – but when he's done stretching, he tries a few things in the small amount of room he does have. It's only a few fragments, but he's sure that they'll start to come together once he can get back on the ice.

So he'll have something for this season. After that, who knows. Maybe someone talented who needs a coach will pop up, or Yuri will settle down after meeting Lilia and experiencing his first year as a Senior and start to take his advice. Victor doesn't really want to think of _after_ , still.

And for now, well - he can spend some of his dreams with the younger Victor teaching him jumps and learning how to coach properly. He's sure they can think of plenty of ways to fill up the rest.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Dreams So Long Enjoyed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643571) by [AshiiPods (ashiiblack)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashiiblack/pseuds/AshiiPods)




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